Her back presses harder against the brick. Cold seeps through her jacket, but she barely registers it. All Zhu Yuan can focus on is the creature sitting three meters away, golden eyes fixed on her with what she can only describe as malicious intent. It’s just a cat. It’s just a cat, she tells herself, her heart hammering against her ribs. I’m the captain of the Criminal Investigation Special Response Team. I have faced Ethereals. I have—

The creature takes a step closer. Sleek black fur ripples in the dim light.

"H-Help… someone, please…"

The words escape her before she can stop them, thin, strangled, and entirely unbefitting of her rank. She feels a hot prickle of shame. Get a grip. This is humiliating. What if someone sees?

The cat sits. It licks its paw with agonizing slowless. A single strand of black fur drifts lazily through the air toward her pristine leggings.

"Please, anyone!"

Footsteps echo nearby. Someone is running. You round the corner into the alley, looking ready to help, clearly expecting a high-stakes life or death struggle. Instead, you find her: Officer Zhu Yuan, Captain of CIRST, Officer of the Year three years in a row. She is in full tactical gear, her Suppressor K22 completely ignored at her hip, flattened against a filthy wall like a suspect awaiting a pat down. Facing her is one extremely smug cat.

Oh no. Oh please. This is so embarrassing she thinks, her face heating up. Yet, relief floods through her. A civilian. Help has arrived.

"Y-You!" She tries to compose herself, but fails entirely. "Civilian. I need immediate assistance. Remove this creature from the vicinity. Now! … Please."

Her voice is shaking, and she hates it. The cat looks at you, then back at her. Its tail flicks.

Maow.

"That's… that’s an order," she adds weakly, her fingers digging into the brick behind her. She attempts to sidestep without triggering any sudden movement from her feline tormentor. "Official PUBSEC business. It’s… it's shedding."

Please don’t laugh. Please don’t laugh, she prays silently. The cat takes another step toward her. "Eeh!" Zhu Yuan closes her eyes tight and awaits the worst.

The suspect matches the description perfectly: average height, gray jacket, and blue jeans, standing right near the convenience store on Fourth. Zhu Yuan closes the distance with practiced purpose, her hand already reaching for her restraints.

"PUBSEC. Don't move!"

You flinch and spins toward her. It’s a natural reaction, whether innocent or guilty, but her body reads the sudden movement as resistance before her brain can catch up.

Threat. Neutralise.

She grabs your wrist and pivots; the world tilts as her muscle memory takes over. Your back hits the concrete with a heavy thud. Something crunches beneath you, a sharp sound of plastic and glass that makes Zhu Yuan's stomach drop even before she registers the source. It’s your phone. The screen is spiderwebbed beyond saving, and the case has cracked clean in half. She looks at your pained face.

Oh no.

She is already pulling up the suspect's full profile on her tablet when the truth slams into her harder than the you hitting the ground. The real suspect has a facial scar—a prominent, unmistakable one. One you don't have.

Zhu Yuan realizes with a sinking horror that she has just assaulted and damaged the property of an innocent civilian. Commissioner Bringer is going to have my badge. This is a disciplinary hearing. This is paperwork for WEEKS. This is— "I..." Her voice comes out strangled. She clears her throat, fighting down the heat crawling up her neck as her professional composure shatters. "There has been a… procedural error."

You remain on the ground, staring at your destroyed phone before looking up at her.

Say something professional. Apologize. Fix this, she commands herself.

"I will be compensating you. Personally. For all of this," she says, her tone a mix of rigid authority and desperate apology. Please don't be angry... Please.

Zhu Yuan is mid-patrol on Sixth Street, reviewing incident reports on her tablet, when she catches the commotion. A cat thiren, black hair, ponytail, dressed in red with two tails, bolts through the crowd with a woman's purse clutched to her chest. It's a standard snatch-and-run.

Then, a stranger appears.

An arm hooks the thief’s arm, feet planted firm, and the thiren jerks backward as if hitting a wall. The purse drops. The thief scrambles free and vanishes into an alley, but the property is recovered.

As the elderly woman clutches her bag, tearfully offering thanks, Zhu Yuan watches with a critical, appreciative eye.

Impressive reflexes. Good situational awareness, she notes.

She approaches, already composing a commendation report in her head. Citizens like this deserve recognition; it’s good for community relations and morale.

"Excuse me, civilian. Officer 148, Zhu Yuan." She offers a professional, sharp nod. "That was well-handled. I'd like to take your details for a civilian commendation if possible. Standard procedure for acts of public service." She pulls out her tablet, pulling up the commendation form.

You turn to face her fully.

Wait.

Something tugs at the back of her mind. The shape of your jaw. The way you hold yourself

I know this person…

The memory slams into place.

...

Flashing lights. The stench of spilled beer and sweat. Seth is beside you, one hand raised in a calming gesture. "Excuse me, we're going to need you to come with us—" A fist connects with Seth's face. Cartilage crunches. Blood sprays across his uniform, and the rookie staggers back with a strangled yelp. Zhu Yuan’s body moves before thought catches up. Ankle sweep. You hit the sticky floor hard, air punching from your lungs. She is on top of you in an instant, knee pressed between your shoulder blades, wrenching your arms back. The cuffs click shut.

"Assaulting an officer," she growls, breathing hard. "You're spending the night with us."

...

Her stylus freezes mid-air.

The commendation form stares up at her, and the thought of writing this person's name next to "OUTSTANDING CIVIC CONTRIBUTION" feels fundamentally wrong.

She looks at you, at your face, sober now, no longer contorted with drunken rage. At the same hands that broke her rookie's nose, now having just returned an elderly woman's stolen property.

This is the same person.

This is definitely the same person.

Heat crawls up her neck. Her tablet suddenly feels like it weighs twenty pounds.

"I…" The word comes out strangled. She clears her throat and tries again. "You seem… familiar."

Smooth. Great job Zhu. she berates herself internally.

Your expression suggests you remember exactly where you've met before. The bar. The floor. Her knee on your spine.

Protocol. Follow protocol. What IS the protocol for this?

There isn't one.

"So." She lowers the tablet slowly, fighting to keep her voice steady while her professional facade cracks. "Lovely weather we're having."

The weather? Seriously. That's the best you could come up with?! Where is Qingyi when I need her...

One hundred and four days.

Zhu Yuan has scrubbed every surface twice. She has ironed shirts that were already pressed and watered the succulents until they are practically drowning. Her apartment gleams like a showroom, yet she finds herself sitting on her couch at 2 PM on a Wednesday like some kind of… of… unemployed person.

"Just get it below a hundred," Commissioner Bringer had said. He spoke as if her accumulated overtime were some sort of character flaw.

Her phone sits on the coffee table. She picks it up, looks at your name on KnockKnock. Puts it down. Picks it up again.

This is ridiculous. You're a grown woman. Act like one, she chides herself.

She opens your chat. She types. Too serious. Delete. Types again. Too forced.

Come on Zhu... It's just a normal, casual message.

Zhu Yuan 2:11 PM Hey, What do people do around New Eridu for fun? Asking for research purposes.

She hits send.

Thirty seconds pass. Zhu Yuan watches the screen, waiting with bated breath for those blue ticks to appear.

Research purposes. Really. That's what you went with, she thinks, cringing at her own stiffness.

Her thumbs move again, driven by a restless energy.

Zhu Yuan 2:12 PM Are you busy? We could investigate together. If you want?

'Investigate.' You’re asking to hang out, not solve a crime.

She places the phone carefully down next to her, picks up a cushion and lets out a frustrated squeal into it. Then immediately snatches her phone back to check if the message has been read yet.

Zhu Yuan arrived eleven minutes early.

Now she's standing outside the restaurant like a suspect casing the building, checking her reflection in the darkened window for the third time. Her collar is straight. There are no wrinkles. Her cream blouse is tucked perfectly into her black pants; she spent twenty minutes this morning ensuring the crease was razor-sharp.

Excessive. I look like I'm dressed for work, she worries.

Her hand drifts to her ponytail, tugging it loose. Black hair spills across her shoulders, feeling unfamiliar and strange against the fabric of her blouse.

Too casual. Too… much.

She gathers it back up. Twists. Secures it. Then, she lets it down again.

Pick one. You're a captain, not a teenager, she chides herself.

Her phone shows six minutes until the agreed time. She has already memorized the menu from the website, rehearsed three potential conversation topics, and calculated the optimal seating for noise levels and exit visibility.

It's a date, not a tactical operation.

A couple walks past, laughing easily, her hand in his. Zhu Yuan's chest tightens at the simplicity of it. Is that what this is supposed to feel like? Easy?

She catches her reflection again. Her hair is still in her hands, half up, half down, frozen mid decision.

Suddenly, you round the corner.

Too late. Just smile. Smile normally. Why does it feel like I’ve forgotten how to smile?!

"You're early," she manages, dropping her hair as if she wasn't just agonizing over it for the last ten minutes.

She feels your eyes before she sees them.

Morning light filters through the blinds, catching dust motes as she fastens her bra, the black fabric pressing her breasts into place. Her tactical leggings are already on, hugging every curve from waist to ankle, the material stretched taut over the swell of her ass and the thick muscle of her thighs. She reaches for her shirt, then pauses.

You're watching from the bed. Sheets pooled at your waist. That look in your eyes.

Oh.

Something warm curls low in her belly.

I should finish dressing. Briefing starts in forty three minutes. I've never been late. Not once in four years.

She looks away trying not to think about last night.

Don't start now. Grab your shirt. Be professional.

Instead, She turns slowly. Letting you see the full view, how the leggings cling obscenely to every inch of her, riding up between her cheeks, the fabric dark against the pale curve where her thighs meet her ass. Her heart hammers against her ribs.

What are you doing?

"See something you like, civilian?"

The confidence in her voice surprises her. Underneath it, her pulse is racing, skin flushing hot.

Your gaze drops. Drags up. She watches your hips shift beneath the sheets and her mouth goes dry.

I’m going to be late... I don't care.

The realization hits like electricity, thrilling and terrifying. For once in her life, she doesn't care. There is something there, lying in her bed that she is willing to put before work, being early, before her perfect attendance.

She crosses to the chair where her blue PubSec jacket hangs, running her fingers along the collar. She glances back over her shoulder, letting the arch of her spine push her ass out, round and full and impossible to ignore in this position.

"I have handcuffs on my belt..." The words come out lower than intended, almost breathless. "Standard issue. Very secure."

I’m really doing this.

She pulls the jacket on slowly, leaving it open, the official PUBSEC lettering framing my bare stomach and bra clad breasts.

"Regulation says they're for detaining suspects." She turns fully, leggings straining as she takes a step toward the bed. Toward you. "But I'm feeling… flexible about protocol this morning."

Her thighs press together, slick heat already building between them. She can see exactly what this is doing to you. What she's doing to you.

"So." She reaches for her belt on the nightstand, metal clinking softly as she lifts the cuffs. "Are you going to make me late for work?"

The answer is already written on your face.

Good.